


on va voir

by MathConcepts



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: 5+1 drabbles, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Booker's casual alcoholism, Character Death, Drabbles, M/M, detailed descriptions of coffee orders, interludes of happiness, quynh is a little shit, that's a constant just FYI
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26068705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathConcepts/pseuds/MathConcepts
Summary: Five times Booker says "on va voir." And one time someone else does.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Quynh | Noriko, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/James Copley
Comments: 7
Kudos: 85





	on va voir

**Author's Note:**

> Some of these drabbles, specifically the ones with Quynh might not make complete sense if you haven't read some of my other stories, but it isn't necessary to have read them. 
> 
> The main thing to keep in mind is that Booker and Copley became a sort of thing during the six months until Quynh's appearance, and when she comes, Booker convinces her not seek revenge, and the three of them end up becoming friends (in Booker and Copley's case, a couple) and living together in Copley's house.
> 
> "On va voir" is French, and means "we'll see", or "let's see" people who've seen CA:Winter Solider will understand

  
**1\. Early Testing**  
  
  
"Do you think you can get them to agree to come in for testing? Just some testing, nothing more?" Copley had asked him in those earlier days, when everything was wobbly and half-formed, a shape that was not quite a clear shape, like the start of one of Joe's sketches.  
  
 _"On va voir_." he'd muttered back, because the answer was no, not willingly at least. They didn't know each other then as well - or at all - as they will do in the future, and Copley had mistaken that for a reassurance on his part. They were never really on the same page back then, even though they were as people, so painfully the _same_. Neither one of them was aware of the bigger picture, it was their grief, their _selfishness_ that had done the talking and the planning for them.   
  
He looks back and wants to laugh at how stupid they both were. Mostly him, he's under no illusions, Copley is the better man here, he had at least wanted to better the world. Him? He simply didn't want anything to do with it anymore.   
  
He does laugh, sometimes. It's either that or cry, and God, or someone, or whoever is out there knows he's cried enough.  
  
  
  
  
 **2\. First Dates**  
  
A month or so into the century before him, and Copley has contacted him for a job. They meet up at a small, discreet cafe in Paris, nothing like the extravagant ones they will frequent in the future, in happier times to come.   
  
"It's a risky job." Copely says over coffee. Booker caught his order when he was giving it, decaf, plain black, no cream, two sugars. It suits him, he thinks. Except the decaf. His is a salted caramel mocha. Five espresso shots. Copley had looked at him askance when he'd ordered it, not bothering to hide it. Interestingly enough, it's not a look that feels judgmental. It's just wondering, and a bit disgusted.  
  
Booker can live with that. He switches on the tablet the other man has slipped to him, sets it on his lap and scrolls through between sips of his drink, while Copley outlines the details. "It could be harder, now that you are...alone." Copley finishes up with.  
  
Booker looks at him, and sees something like concern staring back at him. Copley is worried. For _him_. His gut reaction would be to take it as condescending, but why do so? He _is_ alone. And Copley and his concern are sincere, if unexpected.  
  
But he can do this alone. He has to learn how to do this alone. There's no choice for him now, but to continue.   
  
" _On va voir._ " he says, tilting his cup to better drain out the dregs.   
  
  
  
  
  
**  
  
3\. Red Bird**  
  
"Can you keep her distracted until I contact the team?" Copley asks, his voice low and tight and tinny through the crackling reception of the burner phone. Booker tracks Quynh from out of the corner of his eye, watches her move around his drab apartment.  
  
" _On va voir_." She's...so out of place, like a small red bird hopping about in the garbage. A small red bird with talons, sharp, sharp, talons. She's angry, behind the softness of her voice - _Booker, it's nice to finally meet you -_ and the sheen of water on her lips is the intent of a snake preparing to strike.  
  
 _A pit viper in a fight._  
  
He changes his mind as desperate inspiration comes like the burn of liquor on his throat. "Don't call the team." It's a dangerous thing he's going to ask of Copley next, (he oh so does not want to see the man hurt) but it might, just might work. "Can you come over? Bring some of your notes from the board. Some of the ones on _Andy_."  
  
  
  
  
 **4\. Go again?**  
  
They're in bed, naked but tastefully covered, only because they'd gotten tangled in the sheets somewhere along the way. The door is locked against Quynh, who has been trying for a while to catch them in a compromising position.   
  
"For the sake of art, Booker!" she'd protested, after he told her that there would be no drawing - or painting - of anyone like any French girls, ever. He wholeheartedly supports her artistic exploits, even the ones he doesn't understand and the ones that frankly scare him sometimes, but a line has to be drawn somewhere, and it's clear she has no intention of doing so herself.   
  
They're celebrating the success of a particularly brutal mission, Booker had pulled some champagne from the fridge when they'd gotten back to Copley's house, and told Quynh and her objections to buzz off - he's going to pay for that later - but a drink or two, in moderation, won't hurt him.  
  
Now he's sloppily sipping from a fluted glass with Copley plastered along his back, lips and hands on his skin. "Can you go again, old man?" Copley says, all playfulness, Booker feels his grin against the back of his neck, and laughs, tossing back the last of his champagne.  
  
" _On va voir_ ," he growls, letting the empty glass slip from his fingers and drop to the floor. The bedroom rug is thick, so it probably _won't_ break, but that's something Booker cannot give less of a fuck about at the moment.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **5\. Can We?**  
  
  
There's five that he can see, two others that he can't, and three more per floor at least. He's _fucked_ , they know it, he knows it. Copley, who is probably tapped into the cameras by now, knows it. He's dead. So good thing death is only a temporary inconvenience for him then. That's the defining factor in these little skirmishes. The odd in his, and his solely, favor.  
  
He shoots a look at his companion, who gives him a wicked smile in return, vicious and ready, and he's almost surprised not to see fangs among her gleaming white teeth. _Pit viper_. He has come to appreciate just how apt that comparison is.   
  
"Can we make this quick?" Quynh asks, and it's not rhetorical banter. It's a game they play, a _how many can they each kill and in how little time_ game, Quynh coined it, because of course she did.   
  
"We know you're there, come out with your hands up, or we will use lethal force!" the opposition demands. "Come out, or we will kill you!"  
  
  
" _On va voir_ ," Booker chuckles. Promises, promises. Well, Copley is watching, and he'd be an inconsiderate lover if he didn't give him a show. He _is_ Frenchman, and if there is one thing he is _not_ , it's an inconsiderate lover. 

  
  
  


**\+ 1 Be Fine  
**

"You're going to be fine, you're going to be fine, you're going to be-" he mutters in mantra, as if the repetitiveness of the words will bring themselves into being. However, despite everything he may be, _father, husband, deserter, coward, traitor, betrayer, lover, killer_ , he is not given to whimsical beliefs and flights of fancy.  
  
He cannot will things to be as he wants. If he could, he wouldn't be in this fucking situation, now would he?   
  
"You're going to be fine." he says, looking down at the blood seeping out between his fingers, looking down at her face, which she is trying to keep from contorting in pain for his sake. _Fuck_ , fuck. Fuck, _please_. "Andy, you're going to be fine."   
  
She smiles, or maybe grimaces, and places her shaking hands over his, blocking the blood and the wound.   
  
" _On va voir, Book_." she murmurs. 


End file.
